


Sealed Away

by AraniaDraws (AraniaArt), witcherlocked



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Crowley's name has been changed, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Loki's Children - Freeform, M/M, Norse AU, Norse Mythology AU, Professor Aziraphale, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Religion, Runes, Runic Text, Serpent Crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraniaArt/pseuds/AraniaDraws, https://archiveofourown.org/users/witcherlocked/pseuds/witcherlocked
Summary: “Wouldn’t it be funny?” Krowley asked, considering the crimson liquid in the cup, a draft they’d drunk a thousand times before. “If I did the right thing and you did the wrong?”Aziraphale lowered his fork and knife. “I think it was quite right to let you out of that dreadful barrow. Are you saying you think I oughtn’t have opened it?”---Part of the Do It With Style Reverse Bang Event 2020/2021I couldn't be happier with how this turned out. Collaboration with the amazing Arania--her drawing is absolutely perfect and she was super fun to collaborate with. Say hi and check out her page for more awesome content!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Awoken

**Author's Note:**

> The art piece was just so beautiful, I wanted to make sure it gets the attention it deserves! It has its own chapter, chapter 2!

The expedition was going quite well, if Aziraphale did say so himself. An excavation led by none other than Tomás Perez himself, the best exchange student Aziraphale had seen in his many years of teaching, ever since he’d walked into an old icelandic university on the search for new books, fell in love with the texts, gotten mistaken for a professor, and just… hadn’t gotten around to leaving quite yet. There was no shortage of old books and runic texts for him to indulge in, and to the angel’s surprise, teaching was quite the rewarding experience. Better yet, it allowed him to help guide some of the more troubled students to the path of righteousness. And sometimes, over a cup of tea that miraculously never got cold, in an office packed with books, he would help particularly troubled youth with their demons. 

Not literal ones, of course. It just helped with his miraculous quota. No, Aziraphale had never actually encountered his spiritual counterparts during his 6,000 years on earth, which he counted as a blessing indeed. He wondered if that meant he was a particularly good angel, or… a particularly bad one. Sometimes he still felt pangs of guilt about the choices he’d made during the early years after time had been invented. His first real Choice, after all, had been to give safe passage to Adam and Eve out of the garden, and on impulse he’d handed over the celestial sword he’d been issued. The Almighty knew instantly, he was sure. But She hadn’t brought it up ever since his little bout of apologetic excuses, so he figured She wasn’t very concerned about it. 

Live and learn, he remarked to his students, who knew him as professor A.Z. Fell. They considered him to be eccentric, and some of the alumni over the years affectionately called him “the English Pansy.” In his opinion, he was so well loved because of his affinity and endless knowledge about books and runes and all sorts of writing in general. 

\---

The expedition was abuzz with excitement, students and archaeological experts alike. A completely untouched Nordic grave from the early period of Viking history? It was the chance of a lifetime for them all, and Aziraphale was quite excited to be a part of this little glimmer of human history.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the site, which was located in a shallow valley in the moorlands. It had been well hidden and well preserved from prying eyes and the elements alike, since simply looking over the moors prevented it from being seen until right at the edge. 

Most of the excavators had been hard at work clearing away debris around the entrance of the barrow. Aziraphale arrived at the site along with the student team just as they were ready to open the grave.

Everyone was hushed as the large stone covering the entrance was carefully hefted away. A draft of cool air rushed out, air that had not been tasted in a thousand years.

Tomás was the first one to break the silence, uttering a low prayer in Spanish. Aziraphale only understood the prayer bits. The small utterance after it, however, didn’t feel quite as holy. Surely the Almighty wouldn’t take too much offence; Aziraphale was only hard pressed to intervene when Her name was used in vain.  
The tomb was dark and slightly damp. The first few intrepid explorers were the professional archaeologists, and a few of their student counterparts eagerly shuffled in behind. Aziraphale would have been quite happy remaining outside of the tomb, thank you very much, but to his surprise, he was pulled along after his students.

“I’m--quite alright outside, my dears--”

“Oh, come on, professor!”

“We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you!”  
“You’re the expert, after all.”

Flustered, Aziraphale stammered something that was very much swallowed up by his gaping mouth as they entered the barrow. His students filed in and spread out, and Aziraphale finally passed over the threshold. 

Much darker and damper than it had at first seemed, now filled with a slight chill and a soft murmur as life filled its chambers for the first time in a millennium. Aziraphale drank it in, it was old. Not as old as he was, heavens no, but there was something in the air that commanded respect, an odd hush that settled over the entire party.

All of them, except one.

“Are you really going to stand there with your mouth open? You look like a fool, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale nearly dropped his torch, such was his surprise to see Gabriel standing in the tomb next to him. His celestial supervisor had a habit of dropping in at the most inconvenient or unexpected times, more often than not forcing Aziraphale to make up some fanciful excuse to his students or fellow teachers. 

At the moment, the expedition took precedence in everyone’s mind. Too busy looking over the mound of grave goods further along in the cavern, no one noticed the sudden appearance of one of Heaven’s most forbidding Archangels… wearing trainers and grey sweatpants.

“Ah, Gabriel! How lovely to see you,” Aziraphale managed, neatly folding his hands behind his back. “Ahem, I hadn’t been expecting you. I’m a bit--occupied at the moment, I’m afraid. But I’m sure we could--”

Gabriel cut him off, as he was wont to do, narrowing immaculate brows at the work happening all around them. “This doesn’t look like the miracles you were tasked with in the last quarterly meeting.”  
Bless, was Gabriel expecting those to be done already? “I’ve--nearly finished my quota, I assure you--” Aziraphale’s mouth moved of its own accord as his mind struggled to corroborate Gabriel’s appearance with the excavation.

Gabriel was sticking out like a sore thumb, and it was making Aziraphale’s thumbs sore with how tightly he was wringing his hands. Gabriel’s hands were otherwise occupied, as he bent to pick a small handful of something up. Aziraphale caught a glimpse of gold as he relinquished the objects from their dusty trappings, and physically restrained himself from batting them out of Gabriel’s hands. “I, ah, wouldn’t touch anything,” he ground out.

“Why not? That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” Gabriel looked a titch nonplussed at Aziraphale so blatantly speaking up. The Principality wasn’t sure what made him more concerned, the ancient Nordic coins hanging so precariously from Gabriel’s fingers or the fact that he’d actually spoken up against him.

Despite the clammy cavern, Aziraphale suddenly felt that perhaps a wool vest beneath his standard tan suit coat was a bit too much. He tugged at the lining of his bow tie, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. “Technically yes, although artifacts should really--”

Gabriel grew bored of the explanation before it was given, and simply tossed the coins at his subordinate, who caught them, miraculously. “It hardly matters. The humans who made them are long gone, and enjoying their eternal rewards. Or not.”

The knowing look Gabriel gave him then made Aziraphale gulp. He pocketed the coins without thinking. “Right, ah, well, humans really put a lot of stock in artifacts. I certainly do. In fact--”

“We’re not human,” Gabriel said. Now Aziraphale was wishing he had something warmer. The archangel paused. “Though I am fond of their clothes, actually.” He pulled at the hem of his gray sweatshirt. “They’re jogging clothes so I blend in here. I will miss them so.” Gabriel moved away from Aziraphale, trailing his hand over a wall that was carved with runes the angel had yet to examine, and cringed to see handled so inattentively. Everything here was fragile, to be handled with the utmost care, like a first edition. It was history, something that humans were mostly very fond of, and in turn something that Aziraphale was fond of as well.

But something that Gabriel had said tugged at him in a way he wasn’t quite as fond of. “You’ll--miss them?” 

“We need to talk, Aziraphale. Preferably somewhere more private. Things are… afoot.” Gabriel looked around, casually leaning fully against the runic wall. The rest of the team didn’t seem to have even noticed his presence, though Aziraphale couldn’t have said whether that was due to their own interest in the artifacts, or Gabriel’s angelic interference. 

“In here will do.”

“In wh--”

Before Aziraphale could even finish asking, Gabriel had dragged him by the bow tie through a crack in the wall, a space slightly uncovered by a stone that had fallen to one side.

Aziraphale dusted off the widest bits of himself as his mind tried to catch up with what Gabriel had so calmly described. “Afoot? You mean--Well. So soon?”

“I thought you’d be pleased. This is what you’ve been working for, after all. It seems to me that perhaps you’re getting much too comfortable among the humans. Eating their food, helping them with their… silly projects.”

Gabriel waved vaguely at a few more runes on the wall. “Good luck with that, by the way. It won’t matter one bit in a few years.”

He patted Aziraphale on the shoulder and in a matter of moments, he was gone, leaving the Principality quite alone and perplexed in a dark cave.

\---

Only now did Aziraphale look about and see where they’d really ended up. At first it had seemed to be a small opening in the rock, or a space between the barrow’s wall and a fallen stone, but reaching for his torch, Aziraphale could see that both weren’t quite right. It was another part of the cave. The walls were much lower, and covered more thickly in runes.

The air seemed thicker, as the light roamed around the letters closest to him. Aziraphale’s curiosity got the better of him despite the imminent apocalypse Gabriel expected him to bring about. 

His torch slid along the cool cave walls, and Aziraphale realized the runic words were laid out in a swirling pattern. What they spelled out was nothing very nice, either. They seemed to be a jumble of common words, but all strung together, the image they painted made even the angel shiver. 

_Hamr_ , meaning skin or abode. _Feigr_ , doomed to die. 

_Liggja aldr_ , to be slain, specifically for ever. 

_Blota_. A curse, or sacrifice in worship.

It was only when he reached the end of the pattern that he realized it was depicting a snake, and _eitr ormr_ , the runes that depicted the very same, meaning _poisonous snake_.

Aziraphale knew many Norse myths hadn’t ended so well, and it only took a glance towards their corner of the heavens to see. Nowadays they’d been fairly quiet as their worshippers had mainly died out, though every now and then a ruckus or two would erupt with the resurgence of disciples.  
 _Keep to what you know_ , a mantra that had been hammered into his head now and then. The Heavens had order, and the angelic beings liked to keep everything nice and orderly and separate. The Pantheons had their place and so did the Almighty. Down Below, now that was something that Aziraphale shivered at thinking about. Apparently they were all mixed in together down there, from all religions and sects and… well. Aziraphale very much did not fancy seeing what it was like firsthand.

The runes in this burial cave didn’t seem to be typical. Why would they say such horrid things, and have such nice grave goods left behind in the other room?

Perhaps Aziraphale wasn’t seeing the full picture. “Let there be light,” he murmured reverently, and the chamber was flooded with a warm, low light. Enough to see that indeed, the runes were in the form of a giant snake, and in the middle of the cave, slightly inset within the stone was… a sarcophagus. Or its Nordic equivalent. Aziraphale knew that mainly, being so far north, graves were hard to dig in the frozen earth. 

These burial mounds, constructed over the ground or placed in caves, were much more practical for the average burial of a Viking. The coffinesque structure seemed much more deliberate.  
The stone over the lip of it seemed intensely sturdy, and carved into the sides and all around the sarcophagus were more runes.

ᚲᚱᚨᚲᛁ:ᚾᛁᚨᚢᛏ:ᚴᚢᛒᛚᛋ

Aziraphale bent to look them over more closely.

“Let’s see, that’s… _Kraki…_ and _njót kumls_ , so…. Make… make good use of the monument, beanpole. Beanpole…? Ahem, that can’t be right…” Aziraphale thought perhaps he’d mistranslated, some of the phrases were so colloquial in their meaning, but as he leaned in closer, the sarcophagus moved. Ever so slightly, so slightly that the average human wouldn’t have noticed. But Aziraphale’s eyes picked up the faintest vibration of the dust atop it.

And then there was a soft moan from inside.


	2. [The Art!]

Here is the art piece AraniaDraws created! I love it SO much!  
  



	3. Flashback

_The serpent Kraki was asleep when the humans came upon him. Their torches split the cool night air like the cracking ice upon his pond, their harsh voices echoed across the moorland like the knowing cackles of Odin’s ravens. He could hear their concerned muttering as they stopped just at the edge of his pit. The humans called it a pit, but it was Kraki’s haven, a rocky valley in the moor that kept it clear of the wind. It was also the lushest place in the highlands, a small oasis. No matter how little or how much rain and snow it got, the grass remained supple, the flowers bloomed as red as his crimson hair and the leaves trembled softly in perpetua, climbing high around the craggy rocks._

_Kraki opened his golden eyes with a soft_ snick _, the clear eyelids rising as he drew himself up from his resting place. His humanlike torso melted into a long, sinuous body towering over even the tallest of the men coming to retrieve him. Kraki let out a soft hiss through his teeth, not resigned to his fate but--expectant. He’d been anticipating something like this for quite some time._

 _His siblings had fallen all around him. Fenrir the wolf, Vali and Narfi, the cursed sons, Hel the half corpse and all the rest. Shrouded in the shadows nearby, all Kraki could do was watch as his siblings were cut down, banished or chained up. Though he knew the Midgard Serpent had gotten off relatively easy in comparison to some, J_ _ö_ _rmungandr’s exile had been the most difficult for Kraki to witness._ _  
_ _Now, they had come for him._

_Kraki coiled his tail around itself and gulped. He looked over their faces; the shadows of their torches licked over stony faces, some of them old and hardened, some of them determined and young. He couldn’t blame them, not really, they were just looking out for themselves. They wouldn’t dare try, they couldn’t dare try to take down an Aesir themselves, but their half bastard children were fair game for the bravest or most foolish of them._

_Especially with all that talk and new religion and whatnot that new lot had been spreading._

_Visitors from far off lands. Christians, they called themselves. Kraki was intrigued. They brought with them new customs and a new culture, new entities for him to bond with. As far as he knew there was only one demigod of theirs, and he had been sacrificed hardly three decades into his time on earth._

_Were all godly beings to be slain by those opposed to their worshippers? Kraki’s eyes flicked over the gathering figures. So many faces, all of them human. So the other Aesir hadn’t even bothered coming to see that his death, or banishment, or imprisonment went right. What a fate. It was not a question Kraki wanted to ponder for very long, though it was one very much on his mind as they lunged for him._

_It was instinctual to try and slither away, slip from their grasp again and again, but soon he became overwhelmed. It was not for want of strength. At his full height Kraki could be nearly twice as tall as the average human, and his tail could easily deter a rowdy ox._

_Although Kraki did hiss and glare and whip his tail around, the men were undeterred. Their fire caused his eyes to burn in the searing light, and though their lances and daggers couldn’t completely pierce his hide, the pinpricks and cuts on his torso were rather annoying. Back and back they pushed him, crowding around him until he was herded to the far edge of his valley, where it narrowed to a point and hollowed out to a little cavern._

_Kraki knew the small cave system like the back of his scaled hand. If he could just slither through a tunnel in the lowest part…_

_But the humans seemed to have prepared for that._

_Kraki didn’t bar humans from his valley garden. Far from it, he slyly encouraged visitors by making a big deal out of guarding it. It was such fun to see them sneak in and steal some of his fruit. Even more fun to see them running in fear when he made himself known._ _  
_ _It wasn’t quite as entertaining, however, to see them running towards him with all their cruel arms and sharp armor._

_A few of them held heavy wooden shields, the rest were armed quite visibly to the teeth. How different from the scared thieves who came in the night._

_Kraki didn’t like to hurt humans, he didn’t like to hurt anything. It wasn’t to say he hadn’t, he could take care of himself, but it just wasn’t… in his nature. Killing and senseless violence were a loathsome thing. Kraki much preferred more sensible ways to subdue, if it came right down to it._

_Perhaps talking would get him the chance he needed to escape._

_“What do you want?” Kraki hissed._

_He was immediately assaulted with the waving of a torch. He recoiled to the sound of: “Quiet, worm!”_

_Perhaps talking would only make them angrier. Lashing out would be a bit not good. “Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything!”_ _  
_ _“Not yet, you haven’t,” the burliest of the men piped up. A rather scary-looking shieldmaiden stepped out of the crowd. In her hands was coiled a length of smooth, silk like fabric. Kraki recognized it almost immediately--leftover strands of Gleipnir, from the capture of Fenrir._

_“Seems a bit overkill, doesn’t it?” Kraki asked. They advanced slowly, the crowd closing in around him like a giant maw. “C’mon, now. I’m not nearly as strong as he is, and I don’t really fancy trying to prove it. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m not a danger. I’m really not.”_

_Their faces only grew colder in the stark torchlight. Kraki lifted his hands, and he saw them hesitate, just slightly. He didn’t have the powers some of the Aesir had, his supernatural abilities were purely physical, but they didn’t know that. The hesitation was only for a moment, but Kraki took his chance. He dove towards a chink in the wall of humans, pushing past roughly. Kraki could slither nearly as fast as Sleipnir could gallop, but it wasn’t fast enough._

_The fabric, thrown by the stalwart shieldmaiden, caught just the edge of his tail, and then they were upon him._

_Humans were no match for him. Kraki could dispatch even half a dozen of them if he were so inclined. But Gleipnir, commissioned to the dwarves by Odin himself, had been crafted with such cunning and expertise that nothing could break its length. Not the foolish Fenrir, not the gods themselves, and certainly not Kraki._

_The humans bound him up and kept him fettered with the glimmering ribbon until they had dragged him to the edge of his own valley, to the cave system he had half a mind to flee through._

_Instead, however, the humans seemed to have anticipated that. Kraki could hear it in the way their gruff voices and footsteps echoed wrongly off the stone. They had been in here, moving rock and making carvings. They dragged him through the main cave to a separate chamber. Inside was cold and damp, and it sent a chill through Kraki’s cold-blooded body to see it in the dim torchlight._ _  
_ _It was a barrow, a burial chamber, inset with a sarcophagus in the exact center. Kraki could see that a stout warrior was already there, carving runes into the side of it. A thick slab of stone rested against the chamber’s opposite wall, heavy with runes._

_Kraki only caught a glimpse of a snakelike figure surrounding the binding runes before the ribbon was roughly torn off him and he was stuffed into the small space. He felt hands, hot hands on him, pushing and hitting and tearing at his scales as he was shoved into the airtight space._

_“Carve faster, Thormundr!” someone cried._

_The scraping sound assaulted Kraki’s sensitive ears, he thrashed against the humans harder, even throwing one against a wall with a flick of his tail, but all of a sudden--he was frozen._

_Thormundr the carver stood up and wiped his brow. “It is done.”_

_Whatever he’d carved was enough to ensnare and entrap Kraki. He had control over his limbs and tail and head, but he couldn’t move past the top lip of the stone sarcophagus. It was like a stone had been placed there above him, intangible, but impossible to pass._

_Kraki wriggled and fought against the invisible force, but to no avail. And then to his horror the crowd of humans hauled the slab of stone up and pushed it, inch by scraping inch, over him, sealing him inside the lightless, airless chamber._

_As the footsteps receded, Kraki strained his mighty body without any luck. There was no give to the stone above him. He heard the scraping of something very heavy. And then he was completely, utterly alone. Trapped, for who knew how long. In the darkness, and the damp, left alone to rot, trapped like his siblings. Left to die. But Kraki knew he wouldn’t die, he couldn’t die. He couldn’t escape, either._

_Kraki remarked to himself that all this had gone down like a very, very heavy lead balloon._


End file.
